


Third Time's the Charm

by BlueOnyx



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Happy Ending, Rule 63, fem!Bilbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 11:30:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2849336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueOnyx/pseuds/BlueOnyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nevertheless, Bilba Baggins of the Shire was to be joined with Thorin Oakenshield, Crown Prince of Erebor, on the eve of the summer solstice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Third Time's the Charm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Em2a](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Em2a/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, darling! This is a gift for the amazing Em2a, the prompt being: fem!Bilbo, Bilba/Thorin, Arranged Marriage. This is my first published fic, I'm very new to this fandom, so please forgive any unintentional errors. The history is altered, but it's not too hard to follow.

  


Bilba Baggins sat at the dining table in Bag End, absentmindedly flicking her spoon in her soup. She was staring through the round window, past the nearby field, past the treeline, at a faint rainbow that had formed after an afternoon rainstorm. She wondered where that rainbow really was, how far it was from Bag End, and if she could reach it if she walked fast enough. Better to travel there than where she had to go instead. . .

It didn't rain nearly as often as Bilba would have liked. Sure, the crops got their fill, enough from the occasional storm and the river, but it always seemed to come in the night, when Bilba was asleep. With spring having long set in, they came more frequently. Sometimes, like today, a steady patter and a cloud of mist would work their magic on the plants and the air while Bilba sat on the pile of cushions and blankets in the large windowsill in her room, reading a book and sipping tea. She loved that, not only for the bliss found from doing such things, but it seemed to ease the guilt of not being outdoors. She had always had it, the feeling like she forgot to do something important, something that wasn't where _she_ was. Maybe it was the Took blood her mother was always telling her about. Maybe. She didn't know.

"Bilba." Her mother was picking up the dishes from dinner. "Your soup is cold."

Bilba put down the spoon on the table and picked up her bowl to her lips and downed the cold soup in three gulps.

"Bilba!"

She knew it was of great stone halls and long stone tables and hairy dwarves in the finest of clothing that her mother was thinking of in that moment. How utterly inappropriate such behavior would be in such a setting. How Bilba would be there, in that position, very shortly.

"I might as well get it out of my system now, shouldn't I?" she said.

"If you don't want to go. . ."

"This isn't about wanting to go or not, you know that as well as I." Bilba thought bitterly of treaties with the other lands. She wished it would all go away, that Man, Dwarf, Hobbit, and Elf could just _live_ , with out all the political entanglements. All the wars of past ages, and what it apparently took to keep alliances strong and prevent them.

"I just hope he's not too hairy."

"I have, in my travels, met many a dwarf who was not. That is, not _excessively_."

"So you say."

"And I've heard rumors that the crown prince is, indeed, a handsome dwarf."

"That won't help him much if his heart is as cold as the stone he lives under."

Bilba's mother took that as the end of the conversation. She collected Bilba's bowl and spoon and went to leave, but heard a soft voice on her retreating back that sounded much younger and more frightened than Bilba typically let show.

"What if he doesn't love me? What if. . . I don't love him?"

"Bilba. . ." Her mother sat down in the opposite chair, taking Bilba's hands in her own. "You are full of love. Whether or not that dwarf will be the recipient of such, or whether he deserves it, I cannot say. But your love should always go to yourself first, and as long as you remember that, I believe you will always be fine. And your father and I love you, too. I hope that will give you strength for what is to come."

Bilba nodded, not meeting her eye.

"If you decide you're unhappy there, you can always slip out and come visit me. But you should do that anyway." She winked. Her tone grew serious again. "Come what may, you are not a typical hobbit, and if there is one hobbit that I have faith in for such a journey, it is you."

Bilba was often reminded, not only by her mother, but by everyone else in the Shire, that she wasn't normal. But while her mother praised it, the rest of the community wasn't as keen on the idea. She didn't feel so different, except for that nagging sensation in her gut and the back of her mind, but she knew she was. Although she enjoyed her creature comforts the same as any hobbit, she seemed to find herself at odds with many things the others did. She recalled only the other day, when she was on her way to market to purchase one of Ness' pies for her mother's birthday celebration, another Took was sitting on the stone fence by the path. He was younger than Bilba, but had still sat puffing and blowing the smoke of that vile weed in Bilba's face. She gagged, hating it, and vowed to never smoke it herself. Everyone seemed to, though, be they young or old. She wondered how long she could avoid it.

  


..:•:..

 

Some time later, as the evening wore on and the clouds rolled away, leaving the golden sun shining across the emerald hills as it sunk lower in the sky, Bilba strolled along a brook that branched off from the Brandywine River. It was late enough that she didn't go further, as she was wont to do; one thing that the others were often tut-tutting about to each other and themselves under their breath as she walked past on her way home from such adventures, her face smudged with dirt and her trousers ripped. The mere fact that Belladonna Baggins let her daughter roam the Shire in old worn shirts and trousers, a knapsack, and muddy feet was enough to have the entire realm questioning their sanity, royalty be damned.

No, they didn't call themselves royalty, although Shire folk would hardly care if they had. But being the most prominent and wealthy of those in Hobbiton, and with the unwelcome help they had received from a wizened grey wizard named Gandalf many years back, that is what the leaders of the realms of Middle Earth now understood them to be. 

In fact, that is what had dragged Bilba into this mess in the first place. Some people, nobody she even knew, had decided that marrying between kingdoms and realms, across race and name, would lead to a stronger Middle Earth, at least, those races allied with good. And so it was established that certain individuals would be wed, regardless of any other concerns. Bilba had long ago figured out that they must have chosen them because of her, because they needed someone eligible to be wed. And perhaps the fact that her mother was of an adventurous breed, that pesky Gandalf must have concluded that Bilba would be the only hobbit half-willing to go. It had little to do with her parents' status, really. But nevertheless, Bilba Baggins of the Shire was to be joined with Thorin Oakenshield, Crown Prince of Erebor on the eve of the summer solstice. Or so they thought.

  


..:•:..

 

It had come the day when she would be taken away.

The faint morning light had barely leaked through the curtains, the room dim but illuminated enough to see. Bilba rose from her cozy bed in her room, her lovely room that she did not want to leave, not just then. She doffed her night clothes and slipped over her head the very fine dress that had been made for her by the Elves, sent to them many months ago. It was all silky pale grey, floating through her hand as she felt the cloudy material that had no weight. Gold and silver thread had been embroidered in the bodice in curls and a delicate flowery maze, branching down to the skirt in vines. It fit perfectly, and Bilba was certain that she had never had something so fine grace her skin, nor the skin of any other Shire-ling.

A knock on her door announced her mother, who peeked in without a response granting her entry. She entered regardless, coming over to Bilba and sitting her down in front the dresser. She picked up Bilba's hairbrush and started through her hair, wielding the curly auburn locks into intricate twists and pinning them to her head. The head piece, sent with the dress and equally elaborate, was soon across her forehead and entwined in her hair. Her mother came around to dab a few bits of colored powder various places on her face.

The room brighter now, Bilba stood up to view herself in full. She looked older, much older. It would be a long journey, and no doubt she would need to change out of such finery this very evening, and the artwork of her hair would certainly be ruined before long, but her mother wanted to prepare her like this nonetheless. It was because she would not be there on the day, and she wished to see how her daughter would appear. 

Belladonna breathed deeply, tears beginning to sting her eyes. She turned away and left the room to prepare breakfast.

Bilba took her knapsack out of her wardrobe, spilling the contents onto her bed. Trousers, shirt, undergarments, and black cloak were all there, where she had gathered them a few nights previously.

She peered out into the hall, hearing her mother in the kitchen and her father talking to her as he sat at the breakfast table. She tiptoed down the small corridor and knelt on the floor before a chest. Bilba silently lifted the lid of her mother's old glory box, extracting up a few items before finally gripping her prize, the small sword that she knew was kept hidden at the bottom. It would have been packed earlier, but she couldn't risk her mother finding it missing and asking why.

After a quick trip to the pantry, avoiding her parents' notice, she slipped back into her room with sword, cheese, sausage, apples, and a large slice of seed cake wrapped in parchment paper. Bilba gathered it all together, the clothes first, wadded into a tight bundle, the food on top, and the dagger slipped down the side. It was slightly too large for the bag, and the hilt poked out at a funny angle at the top, but there was nothing she could do but hope her mother didn't notice. She tied her water pouch to the outside, and that was that.  


She had a plan, and it did not include some hairy dwarf prince, no it did not.

  


..:•:..

 

The breakfast looked good—her mother had gone to an extent to ensure that her last meal at Bag End would be something to remember. But when Bilba finally sat down at the table, her father echoing her mother's gasp and welling tears, she found that the knot in her stomach would not allow her to eat. A most unfortunate circumstance for a hobbit.

The spiced tea, hot buttered scones, strawberry jam, fluffy eggs, and thick slabs of bacon went mostly untouched. The little she was able to down threatened to come back up, so she sat quietly instead.

A knock suddenly boomed through the smial, causing each of them to jump a little in their seats. Belladonna answered the door. It was that blasted wizard Gandalf.

His staff was the first to come through the door, followed by his tall, cloaked form that didn't fit in a hobbit-hole. He stooped and walked over to the table, sitting down and making himself at home. He helped himself to some remaining food. He had greeted Belladonna upon entering, and now exchanged a few words with her, mentioning places that even Bilba hadn't heard of before. Her attitude toward him was reserved; perhaps the day had come at last when Belladonna rued the fact that she ran across the old fool in her travels.

At last he stood again, or tried to. Bilba rose from her seat as well.

"Well? Shall we?" he asked. Bilba nodded and retrieved her knapsack from the hall.

"Oh!" her mother exclaimed, running out of the room and returning with a bright blue cloak, which she draped around Bilba's shoulders. "I had Donnamira make this for you. It wasn't easy to get hold of the material, and of course it's not as fine as that Elf stuff, but I thought it would go well with your dress."

"It's lovely," Bilba whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. She gathered her mother in a tight embrace and buried her nose in her black locks, not wanting to let go.

"It's only a little while," Belladonna reassured her. "You'll be back before you know it."

"I know," Bilba said, sniffling. She didn't know when she'd get to see her mother again, maybe it would be shorter than either thought, maybe longer, if it didn't go according to plan. A month, a year. . . she didn't know.

  


..:•:..

 

The party waiting outside of Bag End was smaller than Bilba would have thought. She was supposed to be the future Queen of Erebor, was she not? And she had heard of the danger that lay on the Great East Road, especially between Bree and Rivendell. Yet it was only Gandalf and his cart and horse, and three dwarves that introduced themselves as Dori, Nori, and Ori, and their horses. A small group, but adequately prepared for anything, except perhaps a small hobbit with a mind to leave them.

They started out after Bilba had been ushered out the door by Gandalf. He had to keep reminding them how far they needed to travel before nightfall every time she and Belladonna lingered in their goodbyes, as well as assuring them that they had everything Bilba would need on the journey. She had plied Bilba with an additional bag, one stuffed full of provisions for the journey (but surely not enough to last a hobbit more than two days), so distracted by the situation that she did not bother to ask Bilba what was already in her knapsack. Gandalf had led her to his cart, pulled out a nice blanket for her to sit on next to him, and they were off.

It was a fine morning, around nine o'clock, and the birds were singing and the sun was warming up the grass, a mist of dew evaporating and hovering over the green fields. Gandalf was puffing away at some pipe weed and set up a low chatter with the dwarf named Dori, all attempts at conversing with Bilba long since failed. It was not that she wanted to be rude, of course, but she didn't care for the descriptions of Erebor that he was detailing and didn't know what to say. After all, she would never see the place if all went according to plan.

At noon they stopped for lunch. Bilba hopped off with her provision bag as Gandalf pulled his horse and cart over to the side of the road. The dwarves tied their horses to a tree and sat down on a log away from Bilba. They had hardly given her a second glance the entire time, and now as she peered over at them, they cast their eyes purposefully downward.

She sat on her own log and brought out her food. There were quite a few links sausage, a wheel of cheese, two loaves of bread, a jar of strawberry preserves, and a small jug of cider. She cut off a slice of bread with a small knife she found at the bottom and covered it with jam, handing it to Gandalf. He graciously took it and a link of sausage and left to rearrange some bags in his cart.

After all had had their fill, they set off once more. A similar stop for supper was held, but they had not stopped for dinner. The dwarves were not as keen on stopping as Bilba would have liked.

It was a slow go, with the cart rolling along at a pace such that it wouldn't break and the dwarves weighing down their horses, Bilba was sure. If she had been on her own, she would have made it much further already, even with all of her stops.

When night fell, they made camp. A small fire was struck, more food was eaten, and Bilba's bed was made in the back of the cart. Before sleeping, she crept behind a bush and changed into the shirt and trousers, untangled the headpiece, and gathered the hairpins in a bunch. She gently tucked the elven dress into her bag. She would sell it if she got the chance, it would give her the necessary funds to keep away on her own, should it come to that. With much more love and a thought of her mother, she folded her blue cloak and put it away as well, so as to spare the light cloth the grime of travel. She fastened her black cloak around her neck, and returned to the waiting party.

  


..:•:..

 

The next day was much the same. They were still in the Shire for most of the day, but crossed the Brandywine Bridge into Buckland as evening approached. Bilba had traveled this far many times, often playing near the river and bedding down at Brandy Hall with the Brandybucks.

When the sun was dipping below the treeline, the party spied a hobbit girl sitting against a tree not far from the path, a piece of grass in her mouth and reading a book. As soon as she saw their approach, she sat up and waved to them, or more specifically, to Bilba. Bilba waved back, a smile on her face.

"A friend of yours?" Gandalf inquired.

"Hm, yes," said Bilba absentmindedly. "Ama Brandybuck. She's a cousin of mine, a nice girl, likes to follow me around when I venture this far east sometimes. Always a good meal at her home, her sister and her family are very generous," she prattled. She was so used to mentioning such things when conversing with other hobbits, that it didn't occur to her what a truly bad idea it was to give away that information.

He nodded but said nothing, placing his pipe back in his mouth and puffing some more. Bilba looked back over her shoulder at the girl, who had closed her book and stepped into the woods. An hour later or so, she looked back again and saw the white sleeve of a shirt peek out from behind a tree. She smiled to herself.

  


..:•:..

 

"Bilba!" A calling whisper filled her ears. It was the middle of the night, Gandalf and the dwarves were asleep, and Bilba had long since risen and silently gathered her bags. She went towards the voice, owned by a girl in some bushes near the road.

"Ama!" she hushed back, far enough away from the dwarves to risk it but still close enough to wake them. She was glad the girl had shown up, but unsurprised. That morning, she hadn't been sure that Ama would stick to the plan or remember the day, she being rather more flighty than Bilba would have liked, but she did and here she was.

It was dark, but their good eyesight allowed them to see well enough as they walked down the road and turned on the path toward Brandy Hill. It was cracking dawn as they slipped into the front door of the fine building, a nicer establishment than Bag End, but the only one around that was (apart from Great Smials, of course).

"Amaranth Brandybuck!" a stern voice called out. A lantern was lit, still being quite dark in the house, and hovering above it was Mirabella Brandybuck. "And where do you think you were off to in the middle of the night, sneakin' out like that?"

"Nowhere, Mother, I swear!" Ama cried.

She finally noticed Bilba, and she seemed to lose some of her steam. "How many times have I told you, no adventurin' after dark! Now come and have some breakfast, dear."

"Actually, Mum, we've been walkin' all night. Can't we have a lie down first?"

Mrs. Brandybuck sighed, then turned and left them in the dark, taking the lantern with her. In the kitchen, a brighter light appeared and leaked out into the hall.

They proceeded to Ama's room and promptly fell asleep in her bed. They rose around eleven o'clock. Bilba woke first, her first thoughts of the day being of the party she left behind, how they had discovered her gone hours ago, and how they were probably shaking their heads in sadness as the set off on their long journey home, having come such a long way for nothing. She chuckled to herself, nudged Ama in the shoulder until she stirred, and they both hopped out of bed and proceeded to their breakfast.

The Brandybucks were sitting around the long table for elevensies, but it was food all the same for Bilba and Ama. The family didn't look twice at Bilba being there, nor did it occur to them to wonder how their cousin showed up during the night. They all tucked in and had a fine time, and Bilba let herself forget about the plans of powerful leaders, dwarves that didn't say anything, and a meddling old wizard and his nasty pipe weed habit.

That was, until a loud knock echoed into the house.

  


..:•:..

 

Gandalf stood at the front step, leaning on his staff and peering down at Bilba, who looked back up at him with wide eyes and not quite believing them.

"How did you. . . how—" she stuttered.

"Simple," Gandalf said softly, no hint of malice or annoyance in his voice. In fact, he sounded rather amused. "You mentioned your cousins, the Brandybucks, and that being the most logical place for you to go. . ." He gestured with his hand to the Brandybucks' home, smiling down at Bilba. She vaguely recalled giving him that information, and cursed herself for it.

"I won't go. I won't."

"Bilba, I'm sure we can discuss this matter to both our satisfaction."

"But you can't make me go. Are you going to tie me up? Stuff me in the back of your cart? Deliver your prisoner cargo when you arrive at Rivendell?"

"No, of course not."

True, the nagging feeling ever-present in the back of her mind had eased significantly, but she was no further, on no greater adventure so far than she had ever been. She didn't know if it was the prospect of going even further, but maybe if she _could_ go a little further, she'd get it gone for good and turn back and live as a normal hobbit. Perhaps it was worth a try. . . but she would only go so far, perhaps to Bree. And to hell with that dwarf prince!

Following a brief argument with Gandalf (mostly for appearances' sake, for she had firmly decided to continue on) and demanding to say her goodbyes to her cousins in private (mostly to Ama), they set off for Rivendell yet again.

  


..:•:..

 

Bree was a wooden town, dark and unwelcoming. The party arrived at the gate, the guard let them through, and Bilba found herself seated at a tavern, surrounded by the dwarves and Gandalf. After a token pint of ale, she claimed fatigue the desire to retire to the rooms they had rented for the night. 

Noticing a cloaked figure lurking in the corner, she made for the staircase. Once on the landing, she looked back to see them following her up the steps. They doffed their hood and then Ama was smiling back at her.

"Is it arranged?" Bilba asked her.

"Yes, though we shouldn't leave now, it's beginnin' to rain."

"Very well, but we must leave sometime before the morning comes." Ama nodded and they made their way to the room rented for Bilba. She had her own, thankfully, although it was small and had an equally sized bed. The sheets smelled none too nice, either.

"Bilba," Ama began as she doffed her traveling cloak and knapsack. "Why are you doing this, runnin' away?" She hadn't asked before, her respect for Bilba wouldn't let her dare to question Bilba's motivations, but curiosity finally got the best of her.

"I'm loving myself," Bilba muttered wryly.

"What's that you said?"

"Nothing." She sighed, taking off her own gear.

"I mean, if I was going to be made royalty, well, I'd get right on that. Why aren't you?"

"Well, maybe it has to do with the fact that no one bothered to ask me." Ama sensed Bilba's less-than-jolly mood and fell silent. "And if you're campaigning to trade places, that would never work, they've already seen my face. Besides, you're much too young." 

Bilba was genuinely tired, as was Ama, so it did not take long for them to fall asleep. They were in their traveling clothes, not bothering to undress, and they kept warm by curling into each other.

Ama woke first, poking Bilba in the side. Silence was of the essence, and neither betrayed that as they prepared their bags, donned their cloaks, and slid through the door.

There was an unlocked door to the outside at the bottom landing opposite the locked tavern door, which they silently shut as they found themselves standing in the mud of the town. It was no longer raining, only misting slightly, but the storm had done its work on the earthen streets.

Bilba began toward the gate, but Ama stopped her, shaking her head. 

"But. . . ?" whispered Bilba.

Ama took her by the arm and led her down the lane in the opposite direction. She turned down a side path and knocked on a door. The light went on in the window to the side of the door. A Man opened it, a robe over his pyjamas and a lantern in his hand.

Ama entered the house as the Man stepped aside. Only then did she explain.

"The guardsman can't be bribed. At least, not with the kind of money we have. Come mornin', he would've told your fellow travelers that we'd left in the night, and that I was with you. Maybe they could track us, maybe not, but this is a better way." She gestured toward the sleepy Man. "This is a friend of the husband of my cousin on my father's side, she married a Man. They'll help us."

The Man nodded assent and turned away from them, carrying his lantern to stairs leading downward. They followed him, and he handed the lantern to Ama and opened a door at the bottom of the stairs. It looked to be a dark earthen tunnel, the end of which Bilba could not see.

"It leads out of Bree," Ama explained. "It was used two hundred years ago to smuggle people out slowly when the town was occupied by orcs, so they didn't notice them leaving until there was no one left. Of course, that's all history, but it'll serve us now."

They set down the tunnel, leaving the Man behind to close the door. They walked for a time, maybe a mile, until the tunnel ended suddenly into a dry creek bed, boulders covering two-thirds of the entrance. Their small forms fit through easily, and they found themselves in the Chetwood forest north of Bree.

"It's two miles northeast of here, I think." That last part negated the confidence Bilba had gained over the past few days in Ama, but being thoroughly sick of walking dark places at night, she had no choice but to trust that she was leading them to a warm, dry place with a nice bed. Even if she was wrong, Bilba didn't have the heart to chide the girl, anyway, as much trouble as she was already in with her mother.

  


..:•:..

 

They knocked on the wooden door of a cabin, for the last time that night, Bilba hoped. It was opened, again by a Man, but this time a female hobbit peaked out from behind the Man's waist. An odd combination, even for Bilba's sensibilities, but they both appeared nice enough.

Ama greeted the woman warmly, they both shook hands with the Man, and Bilba found herself being hugged by Ama's cousin as well. They introduced themselves as Adelbella and Tormir, and led them to a table strewn with food. A cured ham, warm fresh bread, creamy butter, and a jug of ale were soon downed. Bilba ate ravenously, her provisions having long run out and discovering that the food Gandalf had packed (horribly salted meat and stale rolls) was extraordinarily unsatisfying.

Cozy beds did indeed await them both. They rose again at noon to more food, and afterwards found Tormir outside chopping wood. Adelbella was working in the garden, with which they gladly helped. The day wore on, a fine time was had, and Bilba spent nary a minute thinking of the party and their desperate search for her. She was quite certain that they would never find her there, and she was quite right.

  


..:•:..

 

The next day Adelbella saw Ama off with provisions for her journey home, Bilba said her hearty thanks and goodbyes, and then Bilba was all alone with the hospitality of the couple. She could not risk going home yet, not for quite a while. They would search for her there, surely. And what would her mother say to her being back so soon? Bilba had promised her that she would at least try, and come back if it didn't work, but she hadn't even done that.

The rest of the month went by slowly. Adelbella and Tormir had long since learned of the reason Bilba had come to them, and seemed to accept it without question. Bilba had even tried to give Adelbella the Elven dress as payment for her time staying with them. She refused, allowing that it would look very fine, yes, but what use would she have for such a garment around here?

And so life went on. Bilba liked to climb the tall trees of the forest, to go so high that she could see the smoke from the chimneys in Archet south of them, past the Midgewater marshes to the bumps of the Weather Hills in the east, sometimes swearing that she could see Weathertop itself. Tormir told her that that was impossible, but she swore it nonetheless.

He let her play with the bow and arrows he typically used for hunting game. She would shoot at trees, attempt to shoot at birds, and before long developed a reasonable aim.

After two weeks there, an acquaintance of Tormir's from Bree, William something or other, stopped by for a meal. He spoke of a frantic search a while back—a few dwarves and an old man, trying to find a young hobbit lass whom they believe had been kidnapped. He looked at Bilba with a knowing glance and they all admitted (over a few pints of ale) that yes, Bilba was that lass, but no, she had most definitely not been kidnapped.

He left their cabin with a smile and a wave, and Bilba to think on things. They thought she'd been kidnapped? But wouldn't Gandalf had known that she'd just run off again, or had her speech back at Brandy Hall been that convincing of her wanting to go with them? Had they set off toward Rivendell already, having given up hope? What news would they send to her parents? She shuddered to think of their faces, contorted with grief at the prospect of her being in the clutches of villains.

  


..:•:..

 

The day before the summer solstice came, and the feeling in Bilba's gut returned—the disconcerting feeling like she was supposed to be somewhere but had forgotten to go. She knew it was because she was due in Rivendell by now, that her would-be wedding was tomorrow, and that she had foiled the plans of people with more wealth and power than she could even imagine.

Tormir sat at the kitchen table after a dinner of fresh bread with mushroom and potato soup, sharpening Bilba's sword. When she had first arrived and unpacked it, they side-eyed it and the fact that Bilba was carrying it in the first place. They themselves had weapons in case of, well, the many number of things that could happen when living alone in a forest, sure, but it didn't seem to _do_ for a young lady like herself to carry such a deadly blade. After a while, though, they grew accustomed to it and admired the Elven handiwork, the intricate etchings and its excellent balance. All she knew of it was what her mother had told her, and its name, Sting.

Bilba had practiced with it since she arrived, as it seemed to be one of the few things to do besides reading, gardening, and hunting for mushrooms in the forest. She had played with it in the past at Bag End, sneaking it out of the glory box and into her room, pretending to fight orcs on her own adventure, but she didn't do it often in case her mother found out. Now she was free to swing it about, garnering tips from Tormir and shouts from Adelbella.

Sting didn't need sharpening so much as Tormir wanted to gaze at the beautiful blade, wishing he'd had one of his own like it, even if only a dagger. Suddenly, he let out a cry. Bilba looked over expecting to see blood on Tormir's fingers, only to see the sword begin to glow blue. A memory from her past echoed into her ears. _A blue sheen, orc or goblin to be seen._

"But!" she cried. "My mother said it only does that when there are orcs near!"

Tormir ran to the window and looked outside. "I can't see anything."

Bilba bolted out the door and climbed the nearest tree. On the plain before the hills, she saw the last of a raiding party enter the forest. Below in the trees, the torches of the head of the group shone in the night, moving fast toward them. They'd be here in a minute, maybe less.

She clambered down the tree and ran back into the cabin. She took her bag, which had stayed mostly packed, donned her black cloak, and snatched Sting back from Tormir. After saying a quick goodbye and thanks, she ran off into the dark with only the blue glowing blade to light her way, ignoring the worried calls behind her.

She had started to flee from both the cabin and the raiding party, but _no, wait_. If the orcs arrived at the cabin to find her gone, they would surely kill both Adelbella and Tormir, and chase after her all the same. No, she would not allow their needless deaths. 

Bilba turned around and ran toward the party. 

  


..:•:..

 

That was it. They'd caught sight of her, and shrieked in triumph. But it was not over yet, not if she could help it.

She considered climbing a tree, but remembered her mother telling her of how orcs were expert climbers, creatures that seemed to defy the pull of the world itself. And they would surely burn her tree down with their torches, anyway. So she ran.

Her cloak and bag were heavy, though, and soon she dropped both in an effort to stay ahead. Sting was her only hope, and there was no way she was letting go of it.

She charged down a hill, picking up a speed that she had never achieved before. It led down to a ravine, a small trickle of a stream ran through its center. But there was no where to go on the opposite side, only a wall of jagged rocks. She was trapped!

And they were fast, catching up the moment she had stopped. The orcs laughed and shrieked madly, grinning and jeering at her.

A larger one of them stepped toward her, shining his torch in her face and singeing a few of her curls.

"Bilba Baggins, Queen of Erebor. You are now _ours_."

  


..:•:..

 

She was unceremoniously bound by the wrists with a long rope, the end of which was held by the head orc. Sting had been taken from her by a hissing orc, his face twisted with fright and disgust as he wrapped it in her fallen cloak. She noticed that he had collected her knapsack as well.

The raiding party began to head back out of the forest at a pace too fast for Bilba. She was forced to a jog, the rope tugging at her wrists and causing her to fall on her knees multiple times. They did not stop when this happened, no matter how she cried, and her trousers were dragged through the mud and grass until she corrected herself again.

They traveled for miles. Out of the forest, onto the plain, and into the Weather Hills. Day had long since broken, and no food had been given, nor any stop for rest offered. Bilba could not run that long, and two orcs had to take up the slack by grabbing a foot each, her arms draped across the shoulder of the head orc. She was in and out of consciousness as the hardship took its toll on her body.

At last they stopped as the sun began to set. She distantly realized she could have been getting married at that moment, but instead Bilba was dropped onto the dirt and rocks. She looked around. It was an encampment of orcs, one that looked like it had been there for ages. She vaguely remembered Ama's history lesson, years and half a world ago, it seemed. Those orcs that had been driven out of Bree, where had they been driven to? Here, of course, _here_.

"On your feet, scum," one of them growled. She complied.

They led her into a dark and slimy cave, their laughing shrieks hounding her ears as she began to cry again. Steps allowed them deeper into the ground, and the next thing she knew, a barred metal door was opened, her ropes cut, and she was kicked into a cell.

  


..:•:..

 

She lost consciousness again. After hours of rest, she stirred to find herself laying on the earthen floor of the small cell.

Bilba soon became aware that the cell was already occupied. A huddled mass sat in the corner, chained to the floor and breathing loudly. She sat up and peered closer, seeing a dark haired dwarf looking back at her with piercing, blue eyes. He wore a soiled white shirt and dark trousers, any accessories having long since been taken from him.

"Why are you here?" his low voice croaked.

She'd had the entire journey there, what she was awake for, to think of why indeed she was in the clutches of orcs. And the only answer she could find was in the presumed actions the so-called friend of Tormir, William. A poor man, looking for money? An evil man, looking to do harm? Whatever the reason, the damage was done.

"Betrayed. And you?" 

"That is no business of yours, master hobbit." A lone dwarf imprisoned by orcs. A very low blow to his honor, Bilba was sure. He certainly looked undone; a cut painted his forehead, but the pain behind his eyes appeared much greater.

She rolled her eyes and gave him a pointed look. "Lady hobbit."

He appraised her again, past her muddied face and tattered clothing. His eyes widened in surprise. "Forgive me, _lady_ hobbit."

A few moments passed in which Bilba crawled over to the other wall to lean against it.

"It should not have happened." He spoke softly but his voice dripped with sorrow. "They should not have been there."

"They. . . ?"

" _The orcs!_ " he cried in frustration. Frustration with himself, not her. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the cold stone wall.

"What happened?" Bilba dared to ask. The dwarf sighed.

"I was foolish. I let myself get captured." Obviously. The dwarf didn't seem to want to reveal more about the circumstances leading to his downfall. "Do you have a knife anywhere on your person?" he asked suddenly.

"No," Bilba answered. 

Her bread knife was still in the bottom of her knapsack, in the hands of the orcs. 

"A pity. . ."

But if it was a tool he wanted. . . Bilba ran her hands through her hair, feeling for any pins that might be left from when she had done up her hair the other evening, or if they had all fallen out on the rough journey there. _Yes!_ There were two. She pulled them out, holding them between her fingers proudly. She crawled over to the dwarf.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Bilba gestured toward the lock on the chains with her hand that held the pins. "For your lock," she said.

He looked down and smiled ruefully. "That is not what I was going to use a knife for."

"Then what. . . ?" Bilba narrowed her eyes at the self-pitying dwarf.

"Without hope of escaping, it would be better to end it here. I have brought dishonor to all for being captured. My family, my future wi—"

"But! I have a pin right here!" Bilba nearly yelled, quickly lowering her voice before an orc heard her. "There is hope of escape."

"I see that now." He gave her an analyzing stare. Bilba's cheeks flushed red and she felt very warm in the cold cell. She could see that he was not a bad looking dwarf, not bad at all. "Well?"

"Right." Bilba put the pins in the hole of the lock, twisting and jiggling them until at last—yes!—it sprung loose.

"You would not make a bad thief," the dwarf declared. She flushed again under the praise.

But an orc had heard the noise. Presumably left to guard them, he ran down the tunnel from his post to the cell door. He shrieked when he saw what they were doing, and opened the door to come in and lock the dwarf back up.

He did not get far. As soon as the door was open, the dwarf was on him. He threw the orc against the wall of the cell with a sickening crack.

"Come on!" he shouted at Bilba. She followed him out of the cell and up the tunnel. Bilba spied her cloak and bag on the floor at the entrance where the guard had been stationed. She picked them up, Sting falling out of her cloak. The dwarf looked down at the deadly blade in her hand, still glowing blue.

"Can you use that?" he asked. She thought of offering it to the likely experienced warrior, but nodded instead. She didn't know why she did that, but it was too late as the dwarf opened the door to the tunnel and climbed the steps that would lead to the main tunnel.

More shrieks echoed in the cave as half a dozen orcs noticed their escape. Two went rushing at the dwarf but Bilba didn't see what he did to them as another one was coming towards her. It seemed to hate the sword as Bilba thrust it at him, which made him jump back, but hated her escaping more and came at her again. Just like she had practiced, she thrust again, and this time the blade was met with flesh. It felt strange to see it in the orc, surreal. Had she done that? She must have.

There was no time to consider the matter further, as two more orcs came at her. Again, she did what she had practiced, and the next thing she knew, both were lying on the ground, dead.

The three other orcs had already been dispatched by the dwarf, and he stood staring at Bilba and the blood covered sword. She looked back at him to see his eyes wide, before he turned away to continue their escape.

  


..:•:..

 

An ugly, twisted stick of metal that vaguely resembled a sword had been taken off the body of a dead orc by the dwarf, and as he swung it around the quadrangle of the encampment, Bilba at last saw the power of the trained killer he was. Orc after orc lay down to form a trail of bodies, and Bilba concluded that it must have been sheer surprise, dumb luck, or a massive amount of orcs to have captured him in the first place.

They kept fighting, side by side, making their way over to the entrance of the encampment. Once out of the gate, though, they stayed there to keep slaying orcs. It would have done no good to have turned their backs to run away while there were still so many left to chase them.

Over the carnage Bilba saw orcs scattering, climbing over the wall on the other side to escape, leaving that same larger orc, their leader, standing in the middle of the quadrangle to shriek after them.

At last it was only him, Bilba, the dwarf, and the dead left in sight.

The orc came at them, a wicked blade in his hand and murder in his eye. The dwarf shoved Bilba out of the way and she fell on her bottom. She looked back to see him in a furious battle with the orc, but after days without food and the exhaustion of dueling dozens of others, he was not exactly winning. 

He let in a swing from the orc and blood quickly began to cover the sleeve over his upper arm. The dwarf parried the next blow, but was ill-positioned to prevent the one after that. Bilba scrambled to her feet and charged, holding Sting tightly in front of her as she drove it into the back of the orc. He gasped and dropped his blade, falling to his knees. The dwarf cast a swift blow through the orc's neck, and they both watched as its head was divorced from its body and went rolling down the hillside. 

It was suddenly quiet, not a sound stirred in the encampment except for the whisper of wind in the hills. Bilba and the dwarf stared at each other, hardly daring to believe it was over, anticipating another orc to start shrieking at them from behind a building.

None came and the silence continued. But the dwarf didn't start down the grassy hill as Bilba had expected him to. Instead, he walked back into the camp. Bilba followed.

He kicked at dead bodies, rolling them over to assess what each had. He must have found nothing of value, for he walked over to the wooden buildings and began to crash through their doors. Bilba looked into each, finding only broken furniture and dirty blankets covering makeshift beds.

At last the dwarf kicked through the door of a smaller building and entered it. When Bilba caught up, she found that the building served as a storeroom. Heaps of items were strewn about, each causing Bilba to suppress gasps and cries.

Pots and pans, dresses, shoes, knickknacks, jewelry, little chests of gold and silver. . . When she came across a pair of trousers that must have belonged to a small child, she had to look down in horror. The dwarf noticed her reaction.

"Behold," he said darkly. "The spoils of the orcs' thievery, taken with deadly force away from innocent travelers." Bilba swallowed and nodded, and suddenly a dark energy lifted from her shoulders, replaced by a warm feeling that what she had done was righteous. Those orcs had done worse to people, to small children, and thoroughly deserved their fate.

"Are you looking for your weapon?" Bilba asked as the dwarf began to rifle through a pile of small swords.

"No, I believe it was lost during the attack. Hopefully my kin had enough sense to collect it afterward."

"Then why are we here?"

Her question was answered after he strapped one of the nicer, sharper swords to his belt, found a large coat, and tucked one of the small chests of gold into it. "It will do them no good now, lady hobbit, and I hate to think of it all in the clutches of orcs. It is only unfortunate that we cannot carry more."

Bilba nodded again. She found and held up a very pretty, plain green dress that must have belonged to a hobbit lass like her. It would have fit, and perhaps it would have been sensible to take it, but she found that she could not stomach to do so.

She continued her search, finding what she was looking for. In a corner she discovered a crate. She lifted the lid to find an assortment of pickled vegetables and preserved fruit in jars. Those she did take, enough to fill the rest of her knapsack, that she hoped would sustain both her and the dwarf for a short time.

He left the storeroom and Bilba caught up to walk beside him. The day was ending and they gazed out of the gate toward the sun sinking over the trees in the west.

She looked back at the wooden encampment. "I didn't think that orcs had the wherewithal to construct such a place," she remarked.

"They don't. Orc are vermin, parasites that merely inhabit the structures of those who built them. This used to be a mining camp operated by Men. I had heard about it before, but never seen it. It was overrun by orcs about—"

"Two hundred years ago. I know." 

Silence came over them as they stood watching the peaceful world, ignorant of the bloodbath that had occurred within those wooden walls.

"Perhaps we should stay here for the night?" she proposed. "There is shelter, after all."

"No, the stench of Orc is far too strong. The remainder will return here once night has fallen, to reclaim their haunt and their treasures." He grumbled something about 'coming back to exterminate the rest' and set off south down the hill, Bilba trailing after him.

After a few hours they came across a small stream that supplied water into the Midgewater marshes. Bilba doffed her cloak and kneeled down to wash her face. The dwarf did similarly. His face clean, she saw that he really was quite the handsome dwarf. She also noticed the blood soaked sleeve from the wound he had sustained earlier.

"Your arm. . ." she said. He ripped off the sleeve and dipped it in the stream, starting to dab at the wound and wincing. "Here, let me," she offered. Luckily, it wasn't too deep and was fairly cleanly sliced.

His wound cleaned and the sleeve neatly wrapped around it, they both sat down to rest. Bilba reached into her knapsack and brought out two jars of pickled vegetables, one each to eat. The dwarf seemed grateful for the sustenance, even if it was merely cabbage. Eventually they continued on along the stream, wanting to put as much distance as possible between them and the orcs before nightfall, in case any had a mind to track them.

When it had become truly dark, they stopped. Having found a small outcropping of rocks higher up from the stream to take shelter under, they burrowed under their coat and cloak, respectively. They fell asleep, however, with their backs up against each other. For warmth, of course.

In the morning, when Bilba awoke, she became acutely aware of just how filthy she was. Seeing that the dwarf was still asleep, she took her knapsack with her down to the stream. Her trousers were in tatters, and the shirt ripped and blood stained beyond repair, the sleeve nearly falling off. She shed herself of it all and sat down in the cold water. It wasn't very deep, but enough that she could splash around and bend over to sink her head below. After washing her hair, she took a rag that used to be part of her shirt, wet it, and scrubbed herself clean.

She pulled the Elven dress out of her bag and over her head. When she walked back up to the outcropping, she saw that the dwarf was awake. She found she didn't care if he had seen her bathe, it didn't seem to matter after what they had been through.

He was stunned by her appearance. "Did you find that dress at the camp?" he asked.

"No," Bilba admitted. "It is mine."

"It looks like a wedding dress. Elven, if I'm not mistaken."

"Yes, that is what it was supposed to be."

"Supposed to?"

"I. . . wasn't keen on the idea. I have decided not to attend the wedding."

He nodded slowly, looking at her curiously. "May I ask your name, lady hobbit?"

"Bilba." Why a dwarf like him wanted to know her name, she couldn't fathom.

"Is that a very. . . common name where you're from?"

"Not another soul I know has it. Why?"

He said no more, only stared.

Bilba took two more jars from her bag, handing him his breakfast. They ate in silence, and when they were finished, Bilba rose. She donned her cloak, her knapsack, and tied Sting to the one of the straps.

"Where are you going?" he asked, looking up at her.

"Home," she answered. She would head west, hopefully find Adelbella and Tormir's cabin before nightfall, and then set off to Brandy Hall, and then to Hobbiton. Adventure had not gone the way she had planned it, and she would have no more of it. Even if did involve meeting handsome dwarves. . .

"Home?" he repeated.

She began to say goodbye, intending to turn away and start toward the forest, when she had a thought. "What is your name, master dwarf, that I might use it when telling my tale?"

He stood up and stepped closer to her. "Thorin Oakenshield, Crown Prince of Erebor."

Realization hit her, the same realization that had struck Thorin only moments before. She met his eyes, eyes that reflected the shy smile on his face. _Oh_.

  


..:•:..

 

"I didn't—I didn't—why—how. . . ?" she began to babble incoherently.

"You were kidnapped," he explained, as much to himself as to her. "Gandalf the Grey and the dwarves I sent him with came back to Rivendell, reporting your fate. Of course, we rallied our forces to come and search for you. We were encamped at Weathertop when I was ambushed by a pack of orcs as I slept. I fought as best I could, but ultimately was captured and taken to that cell in which we met."

She was still stuck on the first part. "I. . . I wasn't kidnapped. Okay, I mean, I _wasn't_ , but then I _was_. . ." 

A silence fell between them. He seemed to understand what she was saying. "You spoke of the wedding. You said you were. . . not keen?"

"Well, er, I wasn't. . . but then. . . um. . ." She couldn't meet his eye. What was she doing? She should tell him that no, the wedding was off, and go back home to her parents. But instead, she found herself smiling back at him. Perhaps her adventure wasn't all that useless. . .

"'Tis a long way to Rivendell, Bilba. I would be very interested to hear about you and your life in the Shire. Is. . . is that agreeable, my lady hobbit?"

She smiled wider, hardly believing herself. 

" _Yes_."

  


..:•:..

 

They didn't head east, not yet. It was back to Bree first, to become outfitted again for such an arduous journey, and as Thorin had predicted, to meet up with any dwarves stationed there from his search party. They were no doubt looking for him, as well.

They encountered two dwarves stationed at the Prancing Pony named Fíli and Kíli, both of whom, Bilba learned, were nephews of Thorin. They were overjoyed to find him safe, and joined them on their journey east. Bilba and Thorin had plenty of time to themselves nevertheless, trading stories and songs. Bilba was shy about her voice at first, allowing that she merely wanted to hear Thorin's fair voice more than her own (which she did) but eventually warmed up to singing around them as she grew to know them. And so, Bilba found herself still on her adventure, which she wondered would ever end.

  


..:•:..

 

They weren't expected when they arrived in Rivendell, but relief showed in the faces of those waiting. Gandalf smiled down at the hobbit as she told him what had happened to her. She couldn't believe it, but she was glad to see the wizard, and almost admitted that he knew what he was doing when he came up with that scheme of his (she didn't). Bilba found herself fascinated and enchanted by the Elves, by the dreamland they inhabited by the waterfalls. She could spend forever here, she decided, or perhaps it would be a lovely place to come to often. She still loved the Shire, after all.

It was a warm midsummer evening when they were married. The sun set early in the mountains that enclosed Rivendell, and it gave an ethereal lighting as the ceremony took place. All the royalty that had gathered there for the wedding had stayed waiting, even when they had both been reported missing. Man, elf, dwarf, and hobbit joined in the celebration alike, in singing, eating, drinking, even dancing.

After the ceremony, Bilba and Thorin found themselves in their chambers. He took her hand, newly weighted with a large gold ring, and led her to the balcony, and from there they could see the entire valley bathed in moonlight.

He cupped her cheek in his hand, which she leaned into and kissed. He began to sing to her, in his low hypnotic tone, a song she had not heard him sing before:

 

  
_Like windy air_  
_A lady's sigh_  
_Her love so fair_  
_For he is nigh_  


 

She closed her eyes and sighed. He leaned down to meet her lips, but found her reaching up for his instead. _An adventure, indeed_. . .

  


..:•:..

 

She had been nervous, asking Thorin to come back to the Shire with her. She feared he would say no, claiming important matters of state that relied on him being in Erebor. Apparently not, and when she admitted her fear, he explained that it was his father that handled most of it, though he should really be there learning. Matters that could wait, he declared.

They enjoyed the fall and winter in Rivendell, but when spring came, Bilba realized how much she missed the Shire, and her parents.

It was a more enjoyable journey back. Faster, too, which Bilba couldn't account for.

She felt proud when they wound down the road to see Hobbiton before them, its emerald hills shining and the air moist and sweet with spring. Bilba hoped Thorin could appreciate the beauty the same way she did, and with time, he would indeed.

When the couple knocked on the door of Bag End, her mother was overjoyed but not entirely surprised. That was, until they recounted exactly how they met. That produced a disapproving look from her father but a fascinated one from Belladonna, although mingled with concern, of course. Sheepishly, she tried to return Sting, but her mother refused to reclaim ownership of it, allowing that it belonged more to Bilba than it ever had to her.

Her parents loved Thorin, after they got over the fact that he was a dwarf. He was awkward around them at first, but warmed up soon enough, as warm as he could be, at least. Yet Bilba and Thorin often found themselves away from Bag End on their own small adventures, wandering around the Shire and Buckland. Some things never changed, and Ama Brandybuck followed them around, mesmerized by Thorin.

It wasn't the same, though. Bilba felt a little lost, like there was a part of her life she left behind that she could never get back. She wasn't a child, hadn't been for a long time, yet it had felt like childhood's end when she left on her journey, and had grown up in the meantime. It was as if a void was developing inside her, one that the Shire couldn't fill, one that even Thorin couldn't fill entirely. Thorin himself seemed restless in the quiet, the yearn to be off appearing stronger each day—a feeling that Bilba shared, too.

Much to her parents' dismay, Bilba and Thorin packed their bags once more, and on the morning of the summer solstice, found themselves on the road out of Hobbiton.

Bilba smiled as she grasped Thorin's hand. 

"I think I'm quite ready for more."

"Then more there shall be, my lady hobbit."

  


 

**Author's Note:**

> Possibly more to come in a further installment, stay tuned.


End file.
